“I must tell you of the precautions I took about your letters on the eve of the battle. I sealed them all, with the portrait, in a packet, and gave them to Daniell, an officer of my regiment, with strict orders to burn them at once if I were killed. But joy! I can still read them, and my eyes will have the pleasure of looking into yours. “I have heard from Prince Ernest that the Electress [of Brandenburg] is going to Luisburg, and therefore I imagine you will go also; but pray keep to your strict rule of conduct, for you will be sure to find there some of your old admirers, who will try to win your good graces. The Electress will notice it, and to annoy us both she will try to entangle you in a flirtation with Le Barbouilleur;[148] but you have been so good that I am sure you will continue in the same path.” ----- Footnote 147: “This Duke here is really very much troubled for the loss of his troops in the late action.”—Colt’s _Despatch_, Celle, August 5, 1692. Footnote 148: _Le Barbouilleur_, the scribbler, the spoiler of paper. He must have been some one holding high office at the court of Hanover. ----- “AT THE CAMP OF HALLE [undated]. “I have only now received your twelfth letter; it was given me with three others. You cannot fairly accuse me of being negligent, and it grieves me that you should imagine the ladies of Brussels might hinder me from paying you due attention. Here are more grievances; but I forgive you, for of course you were unaware that I had not set foot there, and were it not for the bracelet, I assure you I should not think of going at all. Play prevented me from writing the day before yesterday; and there I am in fault rather, the more so as yesterday I could not write because of the enemy giving an alarm; otherwise, my dear one, I should never have missed writing. Your letters were a great comfort to me; they came very _à propos_, for I got them when I came back from the King’s tent, where I had lost a thousand pistoles, and, as that is a considerable sum, it was vexing me not a little, but your dear letters made me forget my trouble. Still I found in one of them something which tells me that if I were the man to break my vows you would easily be consoled. You are certainly very complaisant when you say: ‘I fear that I weary you. Pray don’t force yourself to write to me unless you can do so with a good heart. No doubt you have pleasanter occupations, and I would not be so unkind as to take you away from them.’ If I were such a traitor as to change you ought to be grieved, and not beg me to divert myself, and not to restrain myself. But surely you did not mean it. It was anger that made you write thus. It is strange that you should not have received any of my letters. This is the fifth I have written to you from this camp, and I have not missed a post except the two before mentioned.